Colonel Mutz

So, Mum and Mike headed off for the weekend leaving Barney in my allegedly capable hands.


It didn't go well.


Albeit, admittedly less eventful than the previous attempt, (see Christmas post), it would still be filed under U, for unsuccessful.


Barney was a mess; he would not leave his dog-cave, not for anything. I was so concerned that he was spiralling dangerously towards some sort of fatal, internal explosion due to not doing his wees and poos that I devised a plan; I would enter the house, open the garden door, go into the house (avoiding eye contact at all times) and then stand there in absolute silence looking out of the window to see if he'd go out into the garden. I thought that maybe if he thought I wasn't around, he might be brave and go out and do his business (on the concrete I might add, never on the grass, preferably under the washing line or another high traffic area). One time I actually went to the extent of opening the front door and slamming it shut, as some sort of desperate ruse. Barney, however, was having none of it.

I could  occasionally hear, but never see him, eating the doggy biscuits which I dutifully put in his bowl for him and left out treats for him. He wouldn't actually take these from my hand so I ended up just putting them in his bed next to him whilst patting him on the head, whilst he eyed me suspiciously and whined feverishly at my shockingly close proximity.

I almost fully expected him to revert back to his feral state or pull a Colonel Kurtz and go nuts. Each morning I would peer tentatively into his abode, trying to pull my best endearing/trustworthy expression whilst temptingly shaking his lead. My efforts came to no avail.

Part of me feared that one morning I'd look in and he'd be pushed right up against the back wall in the shadows with his little belly hanging out. He'd have a little bald patch, tribal face paint and sweat streaming down his face - staring at me in a deranged but enlightened manner. He'd have ripped the heads off his teddies and strung them up and maybe lit a little fire and be puffing deliriously on an opium pipe, gazing at me through the thick smoke and jungle incense whilst muttering 'The horror, the horror!'.

Luckily, Mum and Mike came back before any of this could materialise. But, I'm keeping my eyes peeled...

"He was close. He was real close. I couldn't see him yet but I could feel him, as if the boat was being sucked up river and the water was flowing back to the jungle. Whatever was going to happen, it wasn't going to be the way they called it back in Nha Trang."

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